Today I fought with a technical task that should be simple, and that was simple in the past. Over the last two years, well-regarded attempts to streamline, automate, and audit this process have loaded it with complication and obscurantism so that it now takes three times as long and spews ambiguous errors and failures.
Technical products live the cycle of cars, sporting activities, and musical scenes. They are born small, cheap, and useful. Their virtues bring popularity. Features are added; size increases; rules are tacked on; schisms occur; and committees and corporations make decisions. They die as 200 megabyte processes with fins and chrome and league rules that double as radio formats: useless.
Three cloves of garlic chopped into the pot in the last 15 minutes of cooking delivers post Thanksgiving turkey soup from boredom into piquant delicacy.
Wealth and holiness are as necessary as water to me; that’s why I hate money and religion.